Does that title make no sense to you? Then you have successfully filtered yourself out of the morass of old-timey obfuscation that is the first American edition of the annual Pumblechook & Figg Christ-Mass catalog: Tumblefook & Pygge.
Today’s piece is like the Appalachian Trail: very long, you do only as much of it as you want, and almost everyone in it is a filthy savage who will kill you for your fillings. No one will blame you if you quit while it’s still fun. The Tumblefook & Pygge catalog is a walk-a-thon, not a race circuit. If it’s hard going for you to read, just know it nearly murdered me to write. I started in November and put in double-shifts and still absolutely blasted my deadline. That joke about old west trains being late by weeks is based on fact, and I wrote it before I knew I was cursing the actual piece.
Anyway, the important thing is I have once again expunged the demon that begins to well in my brain on Black Friday, thanks to the hospitality of Brockway & Seanbaby. Please enjoy this extended Christmas season with cursed gifts.